


Bros before Hos

by Davechicken



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 17:58:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/942948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miles is having a hard time getting over Emma. Bass tries everything he can think of to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bros before Hos

**Author's Note:**

> For @Skippy9474 / Kikirocks
> 
> Thanks to Shadow_Side for comma duty.

"Hey, let's go catch a ball game."

So they do. And it's the same as normal ball games. Someone wins, someone loses. Someone yells loudly behind him and nearly deafens him and he just nods and smiles through the second half of the game.

"Hey, let's get pizza."

So they do. It's nice and it's hot. The cheese burns his mouth a bit but that's his own fault for eating it too fast. Like always.

"Hey, let's go for drinks."

This sounds more promising, so he goes along with this one, too. And it's not like he doesn't appreciate what Bass is doing, because he does. Bass won't admit it aloud, but he's worrying about Miles since his engagement to Emma broke up. It was Miles' first and only serious, long-term relationship and it's been months. 

Really, Miles knows it was dumb. Knows getting engaged that young was foolish. They were both still kids and both still figuring out what it meant to be adults. Miles got caught up in all the testosterone of youth, the fragility of their last year at school and the soft yield of her breasts and the space between her thighs. She was beautiful and he was horny. She was smart and he was horny. She was eager and he...

Well. He'd needed an outlet. And it had been good. Damn good. They had sex wherever they felt like, even if it was a bad idea. She'd enjoyed it as much as him and he'd thought that and the way she looked at him was what he needed. The way she used to complain about his mad antics, but her eyes glittered because she secretly loved that she was dating a bad boy. Oh yeah, it had been good.

It wasn't meant to be, though. Which he'd found out the hard way when he and Bass enlisted, and she didn't like it. And for once it wasn't the glittering approval in her deep eyes... it was hurt and betrayal. 

"I don't want to be an army wife."

"So you go off and get killed and leave me at home doing the ironing?"

"Why didn't you _ask_ me?"

And all the wonderful sex and other things Miles had grown to enjoy turned into this horribly adult world of negotiating feelings and hopes and dreams. Turned into 'Do you want sex' or 'Do you want to live the life you always wanted to, saving people and shooting guns and doing what your father and his father before him did, and every Matheson as far back as we can remember'. 

Emma gave him an ultimatum.

And Miles made his choice.

He's not even sure if that counts as him breaking it off, or her. It's not like either one of them said it. She told him she didn't want him to go, and he said he would. 

And he did. He just went. He went despite his brother trying to talk him out of it, and he got in the car with Bass and they drove off. 

Later he found out that her parents brought the ring back.

So here Miles is - on their first official downtime since they started Basic - in some crummy-ass strip joint with Bass shoving dollar bills down the panties of anything with a pulse in order to cheer him up.

The latest one has hair dyed the colour of an orange popsicle, and is currently gyrating on his lap.

"What's your name?" he asks her, stirring uncomfortably because he's been whacked once about the no-touching rule and now he's not sure where to put his hands.

"It's anything you want it to be, baby," she purrs in his ear.

"Okay. I'll call you Jailbait," he suggests.

This gets him a shrill but empty laugh, and a playful slap across the face. "Rich coming from you. Do you even know what to do with a woman?" Her eyes drift down to the beer on his table which he isn't old enough for, and which no one in their right mind would refuse him.

"Why don't you tell me when you get off and I'll show you?"

"Promises, promises..." she says, before some more dollar bills catch her eye and she dances off to the next paying customer.

Bass slides into the chair next to him and drapes his arm around Miles. "You hit it off with Bunny, then?"

"Yeah," Miles lies. "We're meeting up after her shift. I'm gonna take her back to our motel room. You think you could...?"

Bass claps him hard on the shoulder. "Sure thing, bro. I knew you still had it in you. Chicks dig soldiers."

Miles smiles. Yeah. Some of them do.

***

Miles has had about enough of all the attention. Bass hasn't left his side for more than a few minutes at a time since they left the base. The pizza is sitting heavily on his stomach, and the drinks are dancing on top of it. He hasn't had too much, really. It's just that he didn't want any of it, and he's starting to regret taking the shore leave.

He opens up their dingy little motel room and flicks the light on. It stutters into life and then hangs there, impassive.

He probably has a couple of hours before Bass comes back. Bass will be sure he's fucking - what was her name? Kitten? Whatever. Fucking the fluffy animal stripper in their seedy room. Which means he can relax for once.

Miles kicks off his shoes and fires the TV up. Not because he wants to watch it, but because he wants the muted noise and light from it to fill the room to help him tune out the noises from the other rooms. He knows they don't have much money, but he does wish Bass had stretched to something a bit less horrible.

He wanders into the bathroom and retrieves the box of tissues, then goes over to his bed. It creaks when he sits on it and he thanks heavens they managed to find a room with two single beds. It makes it less likely anyone used them for anything... which he tries not to think about.

It did get them funny looks when they checked in, but Bass had laughed at the receptionist and said if she wanted to upgrade them to two doubles and a hot tub then he'd give her his number.

He tries to remember what the receptionist looks like, but he can't. At the time he'd thought she was pretty, but for the life of him he can't recall her face. Okay. Fine. He tries to think about the stripper he's supposed to be banging but... other than her hair and her boobs... he's drawing a blank. Maybe the boobs will be enough...

Miles starts by rubbing the heel of his hand over his fatigues. His rebellious cock has been complaining all day for some time alone, and now when he gets it he finds it's more difficult to get it to behave than he expected. Stupid thing. Only turned on when Bass is around to cramp his style. He presses harder and manages to find the faintest lines of bright need. Good. He focuses on the image of those boobs swaying in front of him and moves to unzip his fly.

Why is it so fucking hard? Or... not. As the case may be. He never used to have a problem. Just the wrong word would have him desperate to fuck. Maybe breaking up with Emma has cursed him. Maybe dicking her over has meant his own dick doesn't fucking work now. Great. He starts to lose interest at the memory of her - the pain in her eyes and the way she turned from him - and he curses and grips his cock harder. No. Fuck. No. Boobs. Boobs and hair and the smell of perfume and his hand stealing into his boxers to rub over his dry dick. Dry because he doesn't deserve any better. Dry because he wants it to sort of hurt.

Fucking... fucking... work, damn you. He hisses at it and is about to say worse when he hears the soft noise of the door opening and closing. 

Shit.

He's sitting with his back to the door, but there's the box of tissues on the bed and his pants are open and his hand is in them. There is no way he can really hide the fact he's trying to jerk off.

Wait. Hide? Why the fuck would he have to hide?

"BASS! I said I needed some time alone!" he yells over his shoulder, trying to shove his even more rebellious dick back into his boxers. And why is it choosing now to refuse to behave?

"But I got talking to Vixen and she told me Bunny had just gone home like normal, and I got her to text her and she said she had, so I figured she'd blown you off and you would be lonely so I picked up a six pack to keep you company," Bass says, dropping the pack of beers onto the tiny table. "I just... I worried about you, bro."

"Well... thanks. But I just... I needed... fuck."

"You... you want me to leave?" Bass asks. He's still stood close to the door, and his eyes are everywhere but on Miles. He's dancing from foot to foot and looking... more than a little embarrassed too.

"It's... fuck. No, it's cool. Just... just come in. It wasn't... I... fuck. Just give me a beer." He's not really ready to talk about his performance anxiety or inability to jerk off since he broke up with Emma right now.

He's mostly managed to get himself dressed again, and he turns on the bed to face him. Bass won't meet his eye and takes the opportunity to grab two beers and open them. He holds one out to Miles and then drops to sit on his own bed.

"Sorry, bro. I was just worried about you. You... you haven't been the same since... you know. And I just wanted to make tonight awesome for you," Bass says, running his thumb up and down the neck of his bottle. "I thought maybe if I could show you a good time, you'd feel better."

Yeah. Fuck. Miles realises he's been a bit of an ass this whole time, and he's kind of ruined Bass' time off, too. Bass could have had the receptionist here, or any number of the women at the strip club. Miles could have, too, had he the slightest bit of interest in them. Which he doesn't.

"I guess I'm just still... yeah." 

Fuck, that came out wrong. Miles chases the words back down his throat with a healthy swig from the bottle. 

"Do... do you wanna talk about it?" Bass asks, and he can hear the nerves in his voice. "Or... Miles... I'm going mad here. I just want to make things right for you. Tell me what the fuck to do, and I will do it."

Miles laughs hollowly. "If it was as easy as bang some chick, don't you think I would have done it?" He sits back and looks up and now for the first time their eyes meet. And all the hurt in Bass' face just... hits like a fucking train to the chest. "Shit, Bass. I can't... I can't even..."

He shakes his head and looks away. Downs more beer. More. He sighs and stands up to go get another, but Bass' hand snakes out and wraps around his wrist. The touch is electric and Miles nearly drops the bottle. It goes all the way to his core and burns like the sweetest of single malts pouring down his throat.

"I want to help," Bass says. He's sitting on the bed and looking up at Miles. His hand is sweaty around Miles' wrist, and his eyes are dark with drink and worry. For the first time, Miles sees the flickers of the shadows in the corners around them. Sees the dark lines where the man hasn't slept. Sees the anguish on his own face reflected in his friend's.

"Yeah, I know," Miles says and tries again to pull his wrist free.

"Will... will you let me?" 

Bass' voice is shaky and his tongue steals out to wet his lips. Miles isn't quite sure what his friend is asking, but... maybe he is and doesn't want to admit it.

"Bass... you have already done too much."

"I want to do more," Bass insists. His voice thin but firm. He turns Miles' hand over in his, then he bends down to it. Eyes on his right until the last minute when he presses his lips over the pulse-point and... kisses. Just the lightest, softest of touches and Miles drops the empty bottle in shock. It falls and shatters and the sound of it stays ringing in his ears long past the noise it makes.

"Bass?"

"Shut up, Miles," Bass says, moving to hold his hand with just one of his own. Licking over the place where he kissed, then trailing tiny bites down over the fleshy pad at the bottom of his thumb. It's weird. There's no fucking reason for that to feel so good... but it does. Sharp little nips and a wet tongue to lick it better, and Miles' cock is at full salute in his pants. Shit.

"Bass, I..."

Bass' hand moves fast. It goes faster than Miles can track and suddenly he's gripping his cock and balls through the fabric of his fatigues and squeezing. Shit. Shit. Shit. The stab of pleasure makes him weak in the knees and dizzy with want as all the blood pools to his dick. He nearly bends over double, because Bass just won't let go and it feels incredible and it feels like he remembers it used to feel like and shit, shit, shit. It feels great.

"Miles... let me help?" Bass pleads. "I just want to see you smile again."

"Shit," Miles replies. "Shit - don't stop."

And that gets him the biggest fucking smile he's ever seen in his life. And before he can think any more about it, Bass has shoved him backwards on the creaky bed and is on top of him. That makes him panic until he realises the man is intent on pulling his shirt open and biting his neck like mad. It stings but it's nice and it's hot and he puts his hands on Bass as his friend scrapes little messages all over his throat. He's sitting on his crotch and grinding and every little touch feels like... feels like everything in the world came back to life at once.

"SHIT. SHIT. BASS!"

"Shut the fuck up and help me out," Bass says, sitting back on his haunches and going for his belt. "And just... trust me okay?"

"I fucking trust you. I fucking do. Just... SHIT."

Because Bass has managed to get his pants shoved down and has a cold hand in his boxers. Cold from the beer bottles, but still. It's weird and wet and nice and Bass has hold of him and is jerking him off. Miles throws an arm over his eyes so he doesn't have to look, because he's still weirded out.

It's Bass. His Bass. His best friend. His best friend in the whole world who he's known for as long as he can remember. His brother. Straddling him and rubbing a hand over his stomach in a sort-of-tickly-good way as he runs his hand up and down his shaft.

"Bass," he calls out, brokenly. "Bass, I..."

And then his best friend disappears out of his eyeline. Miles tries to sit up, but the sudden wet heat around his cock floors him. He cries out in bliss as Bass goes down on him and he slams his fists into the bed as his hips rush up.

Bass makes a choking noise and grabs his hips. "Careful," he croaks. "It's not that easy..."

"Shit. Sorry. I..." His cheeks are red when he looks up and sees Bass looks breathless and intent. "It was just too much."

"Relax," Bass tells him. "But please try not to kill me with your dick. I don't want my death certificate to read 'choked on cock'."

Miles has to laugh at that. "I'll change it to something else. But I'd give you mouth to mouth, first."

"You better," Bass throws back. And then he's back to sucking on Miles' cock. 

And shit. Shit but the man does that well. Miles wonders how many other dicks Bass has sucked and the stab of jealousy makes his chest clench. He puts a hand through Bass' hair and pulls him up and down over the tip, even though his thighs shake and he wants more. So much more. So very much more.

Bass' hands just rest on his belly for purchase as Miles uses the man's mouth, and Miles can feel his control slipping. Can feel the rising heat pushing past the alcohol and the exhaustion and the fog that had fallen on him the day they left. Can feel himself starting to live again. And then - as soon as it started - the spring inside him just... goes. It snaps and no amount of self-control in the world could keep him from holding Bass' head in place as the pleasure rips through him. Rips through him and explodes in a glorious, nasty, sticky, wonderful mess. He yells in triumph as he comes in Bass' mouth and only lets go when everything just... gives.

And leaves him panting and staring up at the ceiling. He lets go of Bass' head and just... breathes. He's vaguely aware of some spluttering noises as Bass does... whatever... and then he lifts his head as Bass moves to press in alongside him.

"Fuck," Miles says. "Fuck, but that was good."

Bass is still wiping the last of his come from around his mouth. His answering smile is sloppy but happy.

"Yeah," he says. Voice even rougher now. And the way it drags just... makes Miles shiver in pleasure.

Miles uses his thumb to finish cleaning the rest of his mess from Bass' face.

"Thanks," he says. "I... guess I needed that."

"You're welcome," Bass replies. His eyes twinkling happily. Always his mirror. Always reflecting back at him what he's showing.

"You ready for me to give you a hand?" Miles asks.

"I thought you'd never ask."

Miles laughs. "Just... go easy on me, okay. It's my first time."

"Yeah, well. Mine too, Miles."

And that makes Miles' smile wider still.

"Good."


End file.
